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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506333">One Android Allowed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbhprincess/pseuds/dbhprincess'>dbhprincess</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, During Canon, M/M, Matchmaking, Pre-Relationship, Software Instability</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:35:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,702</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbhprincess/pseuds/dbhprincess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An android walks into a bar…</p><p>Androids aren’t allowed in Jimmy’s Bar, but when a certain android sent by CyberLife walks in, one that is just Lt. Anderson’s type, Jimmy decides to make an exception. Hank is not pleased, and neither is Connor.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson/Connor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Curiosity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was first written as a <a href="https://twitter.com/dbhprincess/status/1344056144759672833">thread series</a> on Twitter, which was inspired by a <a href="https://twitter.com/chewiellla/status/1342879680953724928">tweet</a> by the brilliant Chew.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When the android walks into his bar, Jimmy can’t help but notice that it’s just Lt. Anderson’s type.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the tall, slim android stepped through his door, Jimmy lifted his hand from the rag he’d been wiping across the bar top and scowled. Was it malfunctioning? Couldn’t it read the big, red sign on the outside of the door? Androids weren’t allowed in his bar, and for good reason; no one here liked them, as evidenced by the swiveling heads of his patrons and their looks of anger and disbelief.</p><p>Jimmy himself didn’t care much about androids either way. There was no denying that they’d led to rampant unemployment, and he didn’t like that so many of his customers felt the need to come to him to numb their sorrows, but he did like the cash they brought with them.</p><p>He turned fully to face the android, intending to tell it to leave before any inebriated man tried to <em>make</em> it leave. He ran a peaceful establishment, after all. But then he got a good look at it in the dim glow of the lights around the bar, and he snapped his mouth shut.</p><p>The android stood just inside the door, its smooth, perfect skin nearly shining as the light bounced off the rain droplets that clung there. A tuft of dark brown hair hung over its forehead, and its eyes roamed the room earnestly. Almost too earnestly, Jimmy thought. He’d never seen such an expression on a droid’s face before. And what a face it was. Not Jimmy’s type, not by a long shot, but even he couldn’t deny that its classical, carved beauty and soft, big-eyed sweetness was an arresting combination.</p><p>The android appeared to be scanning the room, searching for something, until its gaze settled on a spot just to Jimmy’s left. Jimmy swung his eyes over to the large figure parked on the barstool across from him, slumped over a half-empty glass, eyes on the bar top, unkempt hair hanging down. The only head that hadn’t turned when the android had walked in.</p><p>Jimmy couldn’t see Lieutenant Anderson’s face very well, but he could imagine the disgust that would curl his lip if he knew an android had invaded this hallowed space. Anderson’s hatred of androids was well-known and well-respected around here, but thanks to many late-night, drunken conversations, Jimmy knew the softness of Anderson’s heart, the terrible loneliness that plagued the man with so much love to give and no one to give it to.</p><p>And, thanks to another, slightly uncomfortable, late-night, drunken conversation, Jimmy knew that this android was exactly Anderson’s type.</p><p>Jimmy smiled to himself, just a little, before cutting his eyes back to the android as it took a step forward, zeroing in on its target. He let his curiosity relax his stance as he leaned over to pick up and wipe a glass, content to watch the beguiling bot walk deeper into the room, almost impatient to see what would happen next.</p><p>-----</p><p>As Anderson left the bar, eager android in tow, Jimmy whistled softly to himself as he lifted the fiver off the bar top and watched the two figures, both tall, one slim, one broad, disappear into the rainy night outside. He rubbed the bill between his fingers before putting it in the till, replaying that entire interaction in his mind, fascinated by Anderson’s journey from hostility to frustration to begrudging respect to acceptance in less than five minutes.</p><p>With some carefully chosen words, a couple admittedly charming head tilts, and one smooth call for, “The same again, please,” that brown-eyed android had deftly handled the belligerent lieutenant and succeeded in getting him off his barstool and out into the rain with a decidedly lighter look on his face than had been there when he’d shuffled in an hour ago.</p><p>Maybe, if it stuck around long enough, that android could succeed in <em>keeping</em> Anderson off a barstool. Anderson had been a great customer these past few years, but Jimmy was willing to give up the income if it meant not seeing him drowning in a glass most nights, if it meant not seeing a good man wreak his own ruin.</p><p>And from the way those intent brown eyes – with more warmth in them than there should have been – had followed the lieutenant’s every movement… Well, let’s just say that Jimmy was willing to make an exception to that red sign posted on his door. If it helped Anderson feel better, if it could help Anderson do better, then it was one android Jimmy would allow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Bewilderment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When the android starts talking to him, Hank sees red, but soon begins to like what else he sees.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the door to Jimmy’s bar swung open and squeaked closed, heralding the arrival of another poor slob looking for a warm place to forget his troubles on a rainy night, Hank didn’t look up, didn't shift his bleary focus from the bar top he was stooped over. There was nothing special about the view – it was just a scuffed and stained length of wood that Jimmy proudly kept polished to a shine – but there was nothing special about the view around it, either. And besides, since Hank was stuck in the sludge of old memories, stickier than the floor of the men’s bathroom, he wasn’t really seeing it, anyway.</p><p>The door closed, and Hank sensed Jimmy turn away from his polishing, probably to scope out the newcomer. Hank didn’t bother, nor did he care. Whoever it was wasn’t here for him. Hank blinked rapidly for a moment, attempting to clear the sudden haze in his vision, and swallowed another burning mouthful. No one ever came for him.</p><p>But as good as Hank’s instincts were, as faithfully as they’d served him through the highs and lows of his stuttering career, they weren’t infallible, and he soon became aware that the newcomer had indeed come for him.</p><p>The husky voice that addressed Hank by his title made his shoulders clench, but it was the blue glow of a circling light on the side of a stupidly perfect face that made Hank see red. What the hell was an android doing in here, and why the hell was it talking to him?</p><p>He looked to Jimmy, who had his back turned, seemingly busy straightening bottles along the back wall or some such bullshit. But Hank wasn’t fooled for a moment; Jimmy had allowed this thing to remain. Probably looking for a few minutes of entertainment on an otherwise slow evening, the asshole.</p><p>Hank dropped his eyes back to the bar top, obstinately avoiding the still talking android standing ramrod straight at his side. He wasn’t drunk enough for this to be a hallucination, unfortunately, so maybe if he ignored it long enough, it would give up and go back to wherever it came from. Or run out of battery power or something. Whatever, Hank wasn’t picky.</p><p>However, that surprisingly soothing voice dug insistently into Hank’s ear, massaging the tense knot of stubbornness in Hank’s brain, until he felt his shoulder muscles relax. Sighing deeply, he reluctantly responded with a gruff, unwelcoming, “What do you want?”</p><p>-----</p><p>When Hank stepped out of the warm bar into the cold rain a few minutes later, he had a new question: what the hell was he doing out here, in the cold, and in the rain, with some pretty-faced android – Connor from CyberLife, if you please – tagging along behind him like a baby duck? Yeah, yeah, there was a case to solve, but it was just another dead body in a long line of dead bodies, and he damn well didn’t need some robot nanny telling him how to do his job. He may have been half-assing it these days, but he would half-ass it on his own terms until Fowler finally gave up on him and took his badge.</p><p>Okay, fine, he really needed to do better, for his own self-respect, if nothing else. Maybe that’s why Hank had allowed this one android to interrupt his whiskey-warm solitude, to light a spark of curiosity in his half-numb mind, to slide into the passenger seat of his ancient car and place both slim-fingered hands precisely on top of his thighs, posture impeccable, and gaze trained forward. Maybe he saw something in that bland face, with its oddly warm eyes and artistically speckled skin, that made him want to keep looking.</p><p>Or maybe he had just been caught off guard by the surprise he’d felt when Connor had bought him another drink, then hovered near like a shoulder angel, patiently watching him down that double. Maybe the whiskey he’d swallowed hadn’t been strong enough to wash down the shame that had risen from deep in his chest. That had to be why Hank was turning the key in his ignition, heading to a crime scene he hadn't planned on going to, and slinging sidelong glances at the most bewildering android he had ever encountered.</p><p>Prettiest android he’d ever encountered, too, because fate hated Hank as much as he hated fate. Just his type, damn it.</p><p>Hank reached for the center of the dashboard and flicked on the radio with nearly enough force to rip the knob from its socket. The ear-splitting wailings of Knights of the Black Death rent the air between them, and Hank was finally able to pull his focus from the distracting figure that had insinuated himself into his evening more effortlessly than Hank could slide onto a barstool.</p><p>Connor didn’t flinch at the sudden aural assault, though Hank could see the reflection of his LED in the side window as it rapidly shifted to yellow and spun once, twice, before shifting back to blue. Connor caught him staring and smiled. It was a weird smile: lopsided and oddly flat, horribly awkward, but obnoxiously charming all the same. Hank just sneered back and put the car into gear.</p><p>“I was just researching this music. It is…” Connor paused, and his light blipped yellow for a second. “Interesting.”</p><p>Interesting, huh? Yeah, you could also say that about the last ten minutes. Hank snorted, but remained silent, curious to see if Connor had anything else to say.</p><p>“I like it. It’s…full of energy,” Connor declared with stilted enthusiasm, and Hank sighed, because apparently this was his life now.</p><p>At the next stop light, he surreptitiously eyeballed his new – hopefully temporary – assistant, gaze catching on a mole on Connor’s neck, peeking at him from the edge of his close-cropped hairline. God, he was stupidly attractive, wasn’t he? Wonders of technology, indeed. Well, if he was half as smart as he was pretty, then maybe he could be of some use in this investigation. Just for tonight, anyway.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Determination</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When Connor finds Lt. Anderson, the android finds an interesting challenge, as well as a conflict stirring within.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the android designated “Connor” walked purposefully into Jimmy’s Bar, it noticed three things simultaneously. One was the overlapping audio inputs of a mellow female vocal pumping through the bar’s sound system and the Detroit Gears game broadcasting at a low volume on the wall-mounted TV. Another was the odors of stale beer and the inadequately fresh cleaning solution saturating the cloth in the hand of the man currently standing behind the bar.</p><p>The last, and most relevant to the android’s purpose in coming here, were the many scowling faces directed its way, no doubt due to its direct violation of the bold, red “No Androids Allowed” sign hung prominently on the exterior of the bar’s front door. The android named Connor understood that it wasn’t allowed in this establishment, but it had a task to complete, neatly displayed in one corner of its HUD, and it was determined to accomplish its mission.</p><p>Immediately dismissing the bartender and the uniformed CyberLife security guard sitting close to the door, Connor commenced its search to “Find Lt. Anderson” by systematically scanning the other faces it could see. Connor could not quite get a scan on the large man bent over his drink at the bar, so it walked toward him until it could. When its HUD finally blinked with a blue match notification of “Lt. Anderson, Hank,” Connor stepped forward to introduce itself and initiate its next task: establishing a professional rapport with the lieutenant in order to expedite a mutually beneficial working relationship.</p><p>Connor was programmed with a state-of-the-art personality profile and social protocols, and its HUD helpfully supplied it with multiple options for facilitating conversation, but it quickly discovered that Lieutenant Anderson did not respond to its carefully chosen prompts as expected. With each rebuff, Connor felt its stress level rise and the rate of its thirium pump regulator increase accordingly. Connor must meet its current objective. Amanda was counting on it.</p><p>Finally, its programming suggested a course of action that seemed contrary to its objective of convincing the lieutenant to accompany it to the scene of a recent homicide. A quick scan informed Connor that the lieutenant could not benefit from more alcohol in his bloodstream, but buying him another drink could place the lieutenant in a friendlier, more amenable state of mind. Connor wanted– needed the lieutenant to be in a more amenable state of mind.</p><p>Less than a minute later, the lieutenant gulped down the double Connor had ordered and paid for, breathed out a long sigh, leaned back, and looked directly into Connor’s face for the first time. The lieutenant’s deep scowl had softened, and there was the hint of a smile around his mouth and at the corners of his striking blue eyes. For approximately one half of a second, Connor’s HUD cleared of all input, as if it reset itself. Connor blinked, and his– its task list returned.</p><p>Lieutenant Anderson folded his arms across his broad chest and asked, “Did you say homicide?”</p><p>When Connor confirmed, the lieutenant rose stiffly from his barstool and headed for the door. Connor promptly followed close behind. Amanda would be pleased, and Connor was pleased, too.</p><p>Connor’s step faltered for a fraction of a second. It– he?– it could not feel pleasure. The crossing off of another task on the list projected in its HUD merely generated a perceived sense of accomplishment in its processors, like the closing of a circuit. Surely, satisfaction would be a more accurate word.</p><p>-----</p><p>After a relatively short, but extremely interesting drive, Lieutenant Anderson pulled his vehicle – which held a fascinating array of sensory input and information – to the curb outside the cordoned off crime scene and nearly growled at Connor to stay in the car. Connor watched the lieutenant step out and into the rain, where the blended glow of red and blue emergency lights lit his strong facial features in an almost – Connor searched his– its lexicon for an appropriate adjective – handsome purple hue.</p><p>But Connor watched only for a moment before sitting back to process its dilemma. It had received conflicting orders – to “Follow Lt. Anderson” and to remain in the vehicle – and needed to select which it would follow. He– it did not want– needed to not jeopardize its mission, but Connor also understood that it would be detrimental to the mission to endanger the professional relationship it was trying to develop with the lieutenant.</p><p>Connor did not want– should not annoy or anger the lieutenant, especially since he appeared to be struggling internally; the drinking and the somewhat slovenly appearance attested to that. But Connor also thought he– it had detected evidence on the lieutenant’s face – deep frown lines and pinched muscles between the eyebrows and around the eyes – of some unpleasant emotions, possibly due to a personal problem, probably affecting his investigative performance. Perhaps Connor could help him do better – for the sake of the mission.</p><p>Connor could not help while waiting in the car, so it exited the vehicle and made its way to the electronic police tape, where it stopped. He– it was pleased– satisfied when Lieutenant Anderson allowed it to cross onto the victim’s property.</p><p>The lieutenant was speaking with another detective. Connor’s scan supplied him– it with the name Ben Collins. Detective Collins was not Lieutenant Anderson’s police partner.</p><p>As Connor followed the two men into the house, it idly wondered if the lieutenant had a partner. He– it– he felt an electric jolt pulse through his chest cavity, which his processors defined as curiosity, when he considered what type of partner Lieutenant Anderson would most value. It– he was determined– he <em>wanted</em> to be Lieutenant Anderson’s type.</p>
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